The Truth About De Campo(52)
“Somehow I don’t. Perhaps you’d like to explain.”
“Your track record makes it very clear where this will end.”
“This isn’t about the past.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, a heated fury building in his eyes as he captured her jaw in his fingers and forced her gaze back to his. “This is about the future. Our future. And you’re trying to end this before it’s even begun.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “It’s an act of self-preservation, Matteo. I have more brains than the rest.”
His stormy gaze sliced over her. “You really are spoiling for a fight.”
“That would be you, not me.” She felt a set of eyes burn into them, fueled undoubtedly by Matteo’s caveman tactics and turned her head to find the source. A photographer sat with a camera at the bar watching them intently.
“This is not the place to be having this conversation.”
“You’re right.” He nodded tersely. “But you are not going to withdraw from me, Quinn. Get that through your head. It might have been an insane idea on both our parts to get involved, but it’s done. Now, later, we are going to see this through. I promise you.”
The music ended. She stepped out of his arms, relief flashing through her. “I should go talk to the governor general before he leaves.”
His gaze followed her as she walked across the terrace with quick steps toward the governor. No way was she doing this now. No way was she making life-altering decisions when her head was clearly not on straight. Because agreeing to be with Matteo De Campo would have a ricochet effect on her life she couldn’t contemplate right now.
It was the early hours of the morning before the party started to wind down and Matteo joined François at the bar for a drink, content in the knowledge that the evening had been an unqualified success. The tourism press and the VIPs had raved about the hotel’s return to its former glory. The contractors would stay on to help Quinn finish the outstanding issues.
His work here was done. He and Quinn were not.
“Where’s Quinn?” he asked François.
“She went to find a bottle of port for a guest. She said she’d join us after.”
His mouth tightened. She’d been avoiding him ever since their conversation earlier. Deliberately. Unapologetically. He’d watched her shell come down around her as the minutes had ticked by. Shutting him out.
François handed him a shot of the ten-year-old rum he’d promised and babbled on about the night, his hands moving expressively through the air. Matteo lifted the glass to his lips.
This has to end. You know it and I know it.
Quinn’s rash preemptive strike was festering like a gigantic sore. He didn’t know it. In fact, he’d been avoiding the whole subject entirely until she’d said it. And as soon as she had, he’d realized he didn’t want it to end. He wasn’t ready to give her up. Might never be. But she was doubting what they had. Her history was kicking in and he didn’t like it—not one bit.
Not when they’d both risked everything to be together.
He set his glass down with a thud. “I’ll be right back.”
Matteo’s long strides carried him into the empty restaurant and down to the massive, ornate cellar. He found Quinn in the perfectly climate-controlled showpiece of a space, staring bemused at the rows of ports.
She looked up at him, hand on her hip. “Another request?”
“No. Which port are you looking for?”
She named it. He scanned the rows, yanked out a couple and found it. Setting it on the shelf, he caged her against the racks with his hands on either side of her.
“I’d like to know what’s going on in your goddamned head.”
Her eyes went round. “I thought we were going to talk about this later.”
“Now. Why are you withdrawing? Why do I feel like we’ve regressed a week in a few hours?”
The delicate muscles of her throat convulsed. “Matteo, not now. I need to get someone a drink.”
“And I need to know what’s going on in your head.”
She pressed a hand to her throat. Was silent for a good two or three seconds. “I’m panicking.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know, it’s just all too much right now and I—I—”
“Spit it out, Quinn.”
She glared at him like a cornered animal that wanted out, her emerald eyes sparking. “I am falling for you. I know it’s stupid and I don’t want to be but—”
He cut her off with a kiss. It might have been relief because it flooded through him like a life-infusing force. Or it might have been the need to put his mouth on hers and feel her sweet lips beneath his and know that it wasn’t over between them. Because it couldn’t be. She had wormed her way inside his heart, had become his weakness. And he couldn’t resist her.